


Oh Glory

by orbiting_saturn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, M/M, Mild Gore, Pre-Canon, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbiting_saturn/pseuds/orbiting_saturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't get off on the kill. He doesn't thrill at the blood on his hands. He <i>knows</i> without a doubt in his mind that what they do is evil, wrong. Sam does it for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Glory

Sam has had four years to examine his motives, but he doesn't really understand them fully until he has Dean pressed beneath his body, hips grinding him into the hardwood floor of his dusty living room. In the dimness, his brother's teeth flash white and hypnotic through the stretch of his wide smile. The light catches Dean's eyes just right, so they glimmer with pride and madness and it takes every bit of Sam's willpower not to lean down and lick at the spit-shiny swell of a pouty lower lip.

It all comes back in a rush, four years erased in the space of a few short seconds, obliterated by the rise and fall of Dean's chest beneath Sam's hand.

Having any motive _at all_ makes Sam a more dangerous animal than his brother, simply because he's a man in his right mind. He doesn't get off on the kill. He doesn't thrill at the blood on his hands. He _knows_ without a doubt in his mind that what they do is evil, wrong. Sam does it for love.

So, when Jess flicks on the light, sleep-tousled and sexy-cute, toes twisting against the floor in her little girl way, Sam's still got his hands on Dean. They're upright now, somehow Dean got them to their feet, but his grip on Sam tightens. When Sam drags his eyes back to his brother, Dean is flashing a smile that devastates.

Sam's seen women get slashed to pieces, bruised and broken, by that smile and wonders if it will work on Jess. She's the girl he loved because she was smart, because she didn't fall for charmers like Dean and saw the world in vivid, bright colors. Sam wonders if Jess finds Dean pale and lackluster. But when he's finally able to pull his gaze from the hitch in his brother's pretty, bitten lips, he thinks maybe she doesn't. If Sam could guess at the color Jess sees Dean painted in, it would be red.

Dean shrugs off Sam's grasping hands, eyes flickering from Jess to him, and back again. Under the weight of so much observation, Sam finally makes awkward introductions. "Jess, this is my brother Dean. Dean, Jess is my girlfriend." There's a tilting question-mark brow to go with the next look he gets from Dean. _Can I? Say I can, Sammy. For me, Sammy, please?_

A hot coil of shame settles itself in Sam's stomach at the question, makes him nauseous with its writhing tentacles whipping all around, all around. But, of course, there's only one answer he can give. _Anything. For you, anything._

With a glowing smile, Dean turns back to Jess and cracks a joke about loving The Smurfs, a response to the wispy little middriff tee she's wearing. Before the nervous little smile can find its way onto Jess' lips, Dean strides across the room in that swaggering gait that Sam associates with all of his sex dreams and punches her square in the face.

It's been over four years since Sam has heard a body hit the floor like that, all loose-limbed from unconsciousness, but it's familiar. It sounds a lot like home.

 

*

 

Dean's love for Sam is perhaps the only pure emotion he has ever felt. Even all tangled up and warped as it is, it comes from something clean, from a place too bright to touch all of the darker places in Dean's mind. It isn't even Dean's fault when it gets all twisted up.

One night, in St. Paul, Minnesota, Dean came back to a hotel room they were sharing, with frost crystals melting on the blood-crusted patches sticking his t-shirt to his torso. It was always easier to hunt in the bigger cities and Dean had had a good time. He was still riding the adrenaline buzz when Sam pulled him into the coffin-sized bathroom, urged him to sit on the toilet as he peeled away one stiff layer after another. When Dean's chest was bared in the yellow glow of the bare bulb, it was streaked in pink, little bits of gore caked in the fine hairs around his peaked nipples.

Sam was silent and earnest as he wetted a rough washcloth with barely lukewarm water, went to his knees with his lower lip caught between his perfect teeth. Sam cleaned Dean in slow, smooth strokes, little droplets of cooled water trailing down pale, freckled skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Dean shivered a little, stomach muscles bunching up, somewhere on the edge of sensory overload. "Shoulda seen her, Sammy," Dean hummed, sliding his fingers into the hair on his little brother's bowed head. "I made a real mess outta her."

The washcloth fell from Sam's fingers with a wet splat on the linoleum, a sound that reminded Dean of darker things. Sam made a little whimpering sound and folded himself down, laying his soft little cheek against the rise of hard flesh at Dean's crotch.

Dean glanced down at Sam's head in his lap, profile just barely obscured by a slash of choppy brown hair, eyes squeezed so tightly shut that one glimmering tear snuck out and clung to his lashes. "Whatcha doin', Sammy," Dean asked, a smirk on his lips and leaking out in a honey-smooth tone. He lifted his hips just a little to make his hard-on more obvious, just in case Sam hadn't quite noticed that he was practically nuzzling it.

Sam whined a little and turned his head, let out a hot breath that leaked through denim and tickled across the rigid line of Dean's trapped erection. With a low groan, Dean fisted Sam's hair in his fist and ground his face down against his crotch. This wasn't something he would have normally considered, but he always got worked up after a hunt, and here Sam was, pretty much begging for it. Dean wasn't one to deny his brother when he wanted something. "You want my cock, Sammy, huh?"

Sam's mouth opened around the bulge in Dean's pants, saliva moistening the heavy material. It seemed as much an answer as Dean could expect. "Can't promise I'll be real nice about it, little brother. You know how I can get after a kill."

And Dean wasn't nice about it, either. He took his little brother's cherry in a cold Minnesota bathroom with only spit and blood to ease the way. Through the bone-shaking pain of it, Sam gasped and pleaded and came hot and slick over the porcelain sink Dean bent him over. It was initiation night. Violence ran in the Winchester blood after all.

 

*

 

When Jess' eyes finally flutter open, they're pained and confused. It takes her long moments to finally realize that she's tied to their bed, but she probably doesn't even notice that it's with the white stockings she'd worn earlier that night.

Jess struggles and bucks, hips rising and twisting prettily like they do when Sam is fucking her, ankles trapped by the knotted scarves secured to the bed frame. She gnashes at the gag in her mouth and her gaze catches Sam almost immediately. He sees there all the betrayal, all of the pleading. For one shining second, he thinks about untying her, about wrapping her up in his arms and begging forgiveness, but then Dean's moving in front of him.

"It's nothing personal, sweetheart," Dean lies easily, that wretched, beautiful grin still stretching his lips. Fingertips gently brush a strand of tear-soaked hair from Jess' eyes as Dean leans down, gets his eyes real close to hers. "It's just that, Sammy's mine, see? And I'm taking him back. You understand, don't you?"

And it seems that she does, as her big, blue eyes round out in terror, shining in a way that could put Precious Moments to shame.

It isn't quick or painless, but for Dean, it's a merciful kill, finely honed blade slashing out in a fast slice from one side of Jess' bared stomach to the other. The blood burbles out slickly, severed organs rising up to peek out between the meaty flaps of skin, skin that Sam had spent hours worshipping with his hands and tongue.

Because this kill can't be one-sided, because Dean demands Sam's complacency, he flicks the wheel of the Zippo clasped in his sweaty hand and sets the bed ablaze. They watch until Jess stops thrashing weakly and sags into the fiery mattress. The flames burn away Sam's escape and he's born again, baptized in smoke and the solid clutch of Dean's hand in his.


End file.
